


Like a Cat to Water

by Looks_Clear (chrysalisdreams)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Case Fic, M/M, Monster of the Week, Non-sexual massage, Trope Aversion, non-sexual nudity, spa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrysalisdreams/pseuds/Looks_Clear
Summary: While investigating a case at a day spa, Dean experiences a house service... at the hands of Castiel!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24
Collections: Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Masquerade





	Like a Cat to Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oxmelsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxmelsa/gifts).



_ Like a Cat to Water _

For this case, Sam and Castiel were undercover at a day spa. Dean couldn’t take a job at the spa with them, because in the first pass he had come in as a health inspector with Sheriff Donna Hanscum. The team was at a critical juncture in the case, but the only way for Dean to check in was under the pretense of receiving a spa service.

He left Baby parked one street over, the nearest parking spot he could find, and headed for the frosted glass doors of Xuanpu Spa. He eyed the crowd waiting in the lobby as he headed to the check-in desk, where Sam was handing towels and robes to a pair of dainty women. 

Sam directed the women toward their locker room before giving Dean his attention. “Checking in for a service?” Sam asked with a manner of hospitality. He made a subtle gesture toward the open door of the manager’s office, where the spa owner was on the phone.

“Busy day,” Dean commented. “All these people waitin’ for…” he flipped through a brochure on the counter, “‘Honey-Salt Exfoliation Treatments’?”

Sam’s tone was one hundred percent professional. “Saturdays are one of our busiest days. Are you here for exfoliation?”

Dean grinned. “I got something on the books,” he said.

Sam expression remained neutral. “May I get your name, so I can let your aesthetician know you’ve arrived?”

Dean couldn’t help harassing his younger brother. “This place seems like your natural habitat,” he jibed. “You fit right in.”

Sam made an emphatic gesture with his eyes and a jerk of his shoulder, again toward the office. The owner was off the phone. Though primarily opening mail, she glanced Sam’s way, observing the interaction between her newest employee and someone she thought was a legitimate guest.

"I have an appointment at four," Dean said, slightly too loud. "Under, Paul Stanley," he said, knowing Sam, at least, would get the reference to rock band Kiss. He observed the setup of the front desk and discreetly took in details of the office through the open door. He could see frames with various official certificates, on a wall; a family photo, on a full desk; and a shelf holding smoking incense sticks and tiny pots with plants.

"Thank you. Paul." Sam clicked keyboard keys. He was killing it, really. “Yes. I see that we have you scheduled for a,” Sam made a slight pause and looked up expectantly, “mud wrap.”

Sam had booked the reservation. Normally, Dean would go for frou-frou beauty services the way a cat would take to water, but there was no way he was going to give Sam the satisfaction of seeing his dismay. “Lookin’ forward to it,” he responded. 

Sam grabbed spa slippers in Dean's correct size, not needing to ask, and handed them to Dean along with a plush towel, a white robe, and a locker key fob. "The locker room is to the left," Sam began, and continued with instructions for using the steam room and soaking pools. "Your service practitioner will look for you in the tranquility room."

With a wink, Dean took his bundle and headed in. He would get Cas up to speed, and find out what Sam and Cas had discovered about the creature, during his hour long appointment. He contemplated Cas's undercover role, laughing to himself at the images that came to mind. The angel had been completely clueless about what even occurred at a modern-day spa, when the plan to take jobs there had been hatched. He’d gone off on a tangent about the Ottoman Empire, sparing Dean from admitting his own lack of experience with luxury grooming.

Cas had ended up with the hands-on job so that Sam could take the one with access to the spa’s database. More than anything else, Dean was curious as to how Cas had been managing over the several days of appointments. Maybe Sam had been able to place clients with the real staff and keep Cas free. Or maybe Cas had just whammied them asleep for an hour and pretended an exfoliating scrub or massage… or whatever… had happened.

The alternative, that Cas was actually putting his hands on naked people hour after hour, gave Dean an odd feeling that was not the amusement he expected to feel.  _ Dean _ was good at putting his hands on naked people, but in a totally different context. Like, what was Cas even using for reference? Was there anything relevent on Netflix?

Dean stripped down in the locker room, rolled his clothes into an easy to grab bundle, and stuffed the bundle and towel into his assigned locker. The robe was softer than his grey one back at the bunker, but Sam must had punked him with a ladies size petite. The sleeves were three quarter length, the hem sat above his knees, and the front barely overlapped. He could have gone back to get one that fit, but he didn't want to give his brother the satisfaction of victory. Out of the locker room, he beelined for the meet up with Cas, taking short steps and keeping his hands crossed over his crotch so that the robe would not gap open.

When he reached the room, a space about half the size of the lobby, with a few lounge chairs and small tables, he found that sitting in one of those chairs would be pornographic, so he grabbed a cup of free tea and stood by one wall, impatient for Cas to show.

The tea tasted like something Sam would approve of. Dean had poured most of it into the planter of a Mexican palm when he heard Cas say Dean’s fake name. He looked up to see Castiel standing in an open doorway, from which wafts of scented steam billowed out.

Cas took a step back as Dean hurried in and pulled the door closed behind him. “I was gettin’ kind of cold out there,” Dean said. “Steamy in here,” he commented. “Smells pretty good. I was expecting patchouli.” He looked around. There was nowhere to sit, only the vinyl massage table, over which a gauzy sheet was draped. The room was a wet room, with a drain in the floor, faucets on the wall, and large barrels filled with steaming water. “This place is a room-sized shower. With a massage table in it.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas replied. “Its intended use is to wash people.”

Cas was dressed in the spa uniform, a simple, close fitting T-shirt and loose pants, both black with spa’s leaf logo accenting the shirt. He wore sandals. It was such a contrast to the usual suit and trench coat that it spooked Dean. Cas was still Cas, though, with that posture of discomfort regardless of what he was wearing.

Cas stepped to the barrels and turned on a faucet, sending the loud sound of flowing water echoing against the walls. The steam increased. He took a towel from a closet and handed it to Dean.

Dean shook out the towel, ready to wrap it around his hips in exchange for the gapping robe, only to find that it was the size of a rag he would use to dry Baby. “What’s this for?”

“For draping,” Cas answered, as if that were the most expected thing. “We can discuss the case while I apply your mud wrap.”

“You’re serious,” Dean responded.

“Do you not want your treatment? Your skin  _ would _ benefit increased hydration and removal of dead skin cells,” Cas stated.

“My skin is fine,” Dean grumped.

Cas shrugged. “I thought you might prefer the activity over merely standing in a room sized shower together with a faucet running,” he said.

Dean took a mental step back. “Uh, yeah. OK.” He looked at the table, then again at the small towel. “But get me a real towel, dude.”

Nonchalant about the whole business, Cas found him a standard bath towel. “I will step outside while you undress,” Cas said, in a formal, scripted way. “Get onto the table face down, and use the towel to drape over your bottom. You can hang your robe right here,” he indicated a wall hook.

Dean had already pulled the towel on under his robe. He shucked the robe and hopped up onto the massage table. “I’m ready to go,” he said. “Stay in the room and let’s get this going.”

"Prone," Castiel indicated, as Dean was already flopping himself onto his belly.

"I get how this works, Makeover Molly," Dean said, proving that he did by positioning his head into the face cradle. 

Cas poured a pitcher of hot water over Dean, starting at his arm and moving in an arc that followed Dean's shoulders. He repeated across the entirety of Dean’s body until the heat of the water soaked in. "Sam says it's not a pishtaco." Without ceremony, Cas began to spackle Dean's shoulder blade with a warm, thin, clay mud. He applied the mud from a stainless steel bowl, a tablespoon at a time it seemed, then used his fingers to spread it over a three inch square area before repeating with the next spoonful.

It should have been weird. It wasn't.

Dean said, "Think' it's not a witch." The face cradle muffled his words.

Still coating Dean in kaolin mud, Cas leaned down to better hear him. "What did you find?" he asked.

"Not hex bags."

"None here, either," Cas confirmed. "We are considering that it may be a type of shapeshifter. Perhaps taking the appearance of unknowing clients. Specifically, the woman who had suffered those scratches on her shoulder. I was not here at the time that Sam said he saw the victim enter the steam room, minutes after your call while interviewing her at the hospital. He made an excuse to check inside and the person wasn't among the people in the steam room."

“Where were you?”

“On an errand for the owner. I wasn’t booked, so she sent me to drop off promotional materials at the community center.”

“Huh.”

“It’s only two blocks away.”

"Hm. I mean, it’s interesting that it was when you weren’t here. This place is hopping, ain't it? The whole zip code."

"It’s the gentrification. We looked into the possibility of an angry ghost. Because of the fire damage, most of the business had to be remodeled. The new owner made alterations instead of restorations."

"What was it before?"

Having covered all of Dean's back, arms, and shoulders, Cas moved on to Dean's legs. "A bathhouse."

"A bathhouse? Isn't it still a bathhouse?" Dean paused. "Or do you mean -- I thought it wasn't a  _ bathhouse  _ bathhouse."

"I am not sure I followed any of that, Dean," Cas said, tone so dry it could have sucked the steam out of even this room. "The previous concept was Russian, dating back to when this neighborhood was semi-industrial and not a nightlife hotspot. However, there had not been any deaths under the Russian owners. No one was harmed in the fire. Our ghost hypothesis is unlikely."

"So what do we know that…" Dean started.

"Dean, it's time to turn over," Cas interrupted, again in that scripted manner. "Be careful, because you will be sticky. I will apply the mud mixture to your front side, and then wrap you in the muslin." In a normal tone, he asked, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, dude. You can skip that. How did you figure out how to do this job, anyway? You don’t have any training." Dean clambered to all fours. He flipped himself over. He had some trouble with the mud catching on the muslin cloth beneath him. His towel came loose.

Cas had the hint of a smirk on his lips as he watched Dean.

Dean said, "How about you turn around? I'm about to lose this towel."

Cas turned his back to Dean, with no hurry at all. "I am good at following instructions, to answer your question," Cas said. "I follow the procedures written out in the employee manual. "And I  _ am _ naturally a healer." Dean detected a note of smugness.

"Well, maybe you missed your calling," Dean joked. "I'm good. You can turn around." The towel was folded in half and draped to cover from hip bone to mid thigh. Getting it tied back around had been a no-go.

"I did not miss my calling."

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Are you still warm enough? Should I turn up the heat?”

Dean considered. “I’m good. Cozy.” He did feel good, in spite of the layer of mud. The massage table was good for his posture, he figured. That must be it.

He wasn’t expecting the next part, with the steaming washcloth Cas put over his eyes, and the sweet smelling application of something other than mud on Dean’s forehead, cheeks, and nose. “What’s this?” he asked, thinking that he should be protesting more. “‘Pore cleansing facial’?” he quoted, from the brochure he’d looked over.

“Honey is a natural antiseptic,” Cas stated.

“Honey? This is just honey?” Dean’s protest made his eye towel slip. Cas’s deft finger adjusted it back in place. Cas brushed his hands over Dean’s temples, and stroked lightly through his hair. Dean recognized the touch of energy that flowed from Cas’s fingertips. “Ha! You  _ are _ using angel mojo,” he accused.

Cas was a voice, a touch, a warm presence. “Of course, Dean. As you have pointed out, I am not trained as a massage therapist.”

“Ha,” Dean repeated, quieter but with no less triumph.

The second part of the mud wrap was more of the same: Cas spackling spoonfuls of mud over Dean from clavicle to ankles. They continued exchanging research about the case, tossing conjecture between each other as Cas worked and Dean became more and more relaxed. When he thought he might nod off, Dean bit his lower lip, tasting honey.

His voice came out sounding like he was halfway to sleep. “Looks like Sam’s gonna have to crack the books again on this one,” he said. His voice sounded loud to himself, but Cas leaned in again to hear him better. “We’ve got a pervy shapeshifter who avoids angels. And the people who get scratched instead of fondled end up with more bad luck later.”

“You think Sam spotted it because I wasn’t in the building?” Tucking the muslin around Dean’s body, Cas wrapped Dean up in a snug cocoon.

“I dunno. Seems likely.” Dean settled in. The wrap was a lot like being hugged. With Cas’s hands tucking and shaping the cocoon around him, it was a lot like being snuggled… snuggled by Cas.

That was a thought.

"It seems possible," Cas acquiesced. He went back to giving Dean light touches of angelic healing. After a long but comfortable silence between them while he worked on Dean and Dean relaxed more than he may have relaxed ever, Cas murmured, "If it benefits the case, I would rather be done with posing as a spa service provider."

"Their loss," Dean mumbled.

The last part of the mud wrap was rinsing off the mud. At this point, the water barrels made sense as more than decor. Rinsing meant a flood of perfectly hot water poured over Dean in his cocoon. While the water flowed, it washed away the tension Dean always carried on his shoulders. His failings, his disappointments, all seem to run off his spirit with the pitchers Cas poured over him. The cocoon gently fell away, but the cozy feeling stayed.

He got it. People paid for this stuff because it was like a baptism. Like going into a river, but without the slimy rocks and hypothermia. Dean had known he loved a hot shower with good pressure, but this spa stuff was next level.

Cas wiped away the honey mask. When he rolled the washcloth from Dean's eyes, Dean looked up and straight into his. Lights of mirth were dancing in their blue depths. Cas held his gaze longer than strictly necessary before straightening up.

“If you will sit up now,” Cas said, “I can rinse the rest off your back.” His voice was as low and mellow as Dean felt. It was as warm like the water, and as comforting.

Hand on the towel in his lap, Dean hauled himself up. Cas washed him. The water felt great, but Dean grudgingly allowed himself to realize: he missed Cas’s hands, that touch that was mild and healing, so different from quick healing to patch him up after a fight.

“You gotta help me wash the car, next time she needs it,” Dean said. Cas quelled him with look and straightened up the bowls and pitchers.

Dean wanted to say something else, but -- why wreck the moment? Things were good, the way they were. Mostly. Mostly good enough.

Cas came back to the table. “Good?” he asked.

If Dean hadn’t been so relaxed, he would have flinched. But Cas wasn’t reading his thoughts. He was asking about the wrap, probably still on script.

“Yeah, that was,” Dean said, “a lot of water”.

“I will leave so you can put your robe on,” Cas said. “You can leave the wet towel here.” He contemplated. “I’ll leave the building. If you’re right about the creature, it may appear again when I am gone. You and Sam will have a chance to deal with it.”

“Well, stay nearby. In case we need backup.”

Leaving, Cas gave a nod to Dean’s words. Dean hopped off the table once the door had closed. The too-small robe inspired him to hustle back to the locker room to dress. He happened to walk in to the locker room at a lull, a group of men leaving as he entered. He could hear one showerhead going, otherwise, the humid locker room was empty. 

Pants on, he sat on the bench to put socks and boots before his shirts. He sensed someone walked in, and when he looked over his shoulder, it was Cas. “What’s up?” he asked as Cas wordlessly stepped toward him.

The back of Cas’s hand caressed Dean’s bare shoulder. Dean’s back straightened. He gave the angel a questioning look, but Cas continued to brush fingertips over Dean’s skin. The light touch explored his skin.

Dean was trying to compose a reaction when the touch suddenly changed. He sprung to his feet as the sting of claws raked from shoulder to spine.

Obviously, not Cas.

He slammed the thing with Cas’s face against the wall of lockers. It caterwauled and tried to squirm free. Dean’s knife was out of reach. He threw the creature hard against the ground and used the moment to go for his knife.

The noise brought company: Sam, and a beat behind him, the owner of the spa. Dean lunged to tackle the creature, but it moved fast. It changed shape as it dived at the woman.

She caught it in her arms, in the form of a large, black cat. She half-turned protectively. “What are you doing!” she shouted at Dean.

Sam stalled. “What?!”

Dean felt the same surprise. He held his knife ready. “Lady, that’s a monster!”

The woman stroked the cat from shoulder to fluffy tail. Repeating her words, but slower and with indignant anger, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Wait. Just a moment,” Sam said. “We’re hunters. We’ve been hunting something that has been attacking people that come to this spa.”

Her incredulous stare went from Sam to Dean, Dean’s knife, and back to Sam. “Hunters? That’s a thing?” She collected herself. “No.” She pulled the cat closer to herself. “This one is an elder, not a monster, whatever you think. Why do you think he’s been harming my guests? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Dean turned to show his shoulder. “This, for one thing,” he shot back. He indicated the claw marks. “It’s been cursing people.”

She shook her head. “That’s not a curse.” She adjusted the cat, who was large enough to be heavy. The creature fixed his green eyes on Dean. “It's not a curse, it's a fortune. This venerable one was warning those people. To help them.” She looked sharply at Sam. “Who’s minding the front desk?” she asked.

Taken aback, Sam didn’t reply.

The woman pushed past him, still holding the cat. Sam, and Dean once he had grabbed a shirt to pull on, followed her to the front of the business. She set the cat down, and he walked among the guests, startling some, rubbing his thick black fur against legs. “You need to leave, now,” she said to the Winchesters, with arms crossed over her chest and a challenging stance.

She sighed testily when they didn’t budge. “I found him here when we moved in to the building. He is welcome here. He brings me business and good fortune. Whatever happened to the people you think you are avenging --”

Sam interrupted. “It’s not -- vengeance,” he said. “We are trying to protect more people from getting hurt.”

“They were going to have bad things happen to them, that’s what the warning was for,” she huffed. “Anyway. All cats scratch.”

Sam threw up his hands, at a loss for words. He exchanged a look with Dean.

Dean put away his knife, doubled back to get the rest of his belongings from the locker room, and walked straight to the door.

Sam matched pace and blew through the double doors with him.

They found Cas at the Impala. He put a hand on Cas’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze, and then a hearty pat, giving in to the urge to touch Cas. “Case closed,” Dean told him. 

They climbed into Baby and headed home.

-o-


End file.
